


I'll Be Seeing You - Operation Mainbrace Missing Scene

by JDSampson



Category: Project Blue Book (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bromance, Emotional Hurt, Epic Bromance, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:34:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23339977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JDSampson/pseuds/JDSampson
Summary: I felt cheated out of seeing more of Allen's reaction to what happened at the end of the episode. This scene picks up after "The" event and before Allen heads home. Obviously spoilers for Operation Mainbrace.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	I'll Be Seeing You - Operation Mainbrace Missing Scene

PBB: I’ll be Seeing You

Operation Mainbrace Missing Scene

_I'll be seeing you,  
In all the old familiar places,  
That this heart of mine embraces,  
All day through._

_I'll find you in the morning sun,  
And when the night is new,  
I'll be looking at the moon,  
I'll be seeing you._

“It's time to go, sir. The chopper is waiting.”

Allen unrolled a fresh chart over the one he'd been studying and continued to ignore the young officer. 

“Sir, there's a storm front moving in and in a few hours all aircraft will be grounded. The pilot needs to lift off in the next ten minutes. Sir, your gear has already been stowed on board. It's time to go.” The young man reached for Allen's arm and he jumped away violently enough to knock two chart tubes off the table. 

“No! I'm not leaving. We're not done searching. These maps aren't detailed enough. I need sonar readings; tidal currents, reports of anomalies from other vessels in the area. Not just this week but over time. I need more information!”

The exec shook his head, a mixture of empathy and sympathy marring his young face. “I promise you, Doctor Hyenk, we'll continue--”

“You won't! Your Captain doesn't want to find. . . “ My captain. 

Quinn.

He hadn’t even been able to say his name aloud. Not after the dozen times he said it into the radio mic. Calling for his partner. Each time more frantic than the next. Each time raising the level of expectation.

_‘Sorry, doc, radio went out for a bit but it’s all good. You weren’t worried about me, were you?’_

But that reply never came. That didn’t mean. . .

Quinn was down there. He was down there waiting for Allen to save him, just as Quinn had saved him from William on that remote airstrip.

“Sir, the sonar readings—"

“Are obviously wrong! A glitch due to the electrical failure” and oh god, he'd just made the Admiral’s case for him. Ships and bombs don't just disappear. The sonar was wrong. 

That meant that the depth charges had exploded, the sub was destroyed along with that Russian craft. They weren’t on the sonar now because they were no more.

No sorry, no remorse. With that one command, the Admiral had killed his best friend.

“It’s time to go sir,” the exec said again, gently this time. And when he took Allen's arm Allen didn't resist. Why bother. Even if he talked himself into staying, the Admiral wasn't going to spend one more minute searching for Quinn.

So, he let the sailor lead him up to the deck. A seaman who looked about 14 years old opened the helicopter door and gave him a hand up. As he climbed in he saw the two pieces of luggage on the seat; his own suitcase and Quinn's duffel bag. 

Not 48 hours earlier he'd been standing in Quinn's apartment teasing him about his lost keys. 

And the dog tags that he refused to wear. Quinn thought wearing them was bad luck and that habit had gotten him safely through the war. Those dog tags were safely back at his apartment now, along with his uniforms and medals - all the symbols of his love and loyalty to his country. 

Allen choked on the lump in his throat but turned it into a cough. The exec appeared the in the doorway. Just the exec. The Admiral hadn’t even bothered to see him off.

“Doctor Hynek, your captain was a good man. God speed, sir.” He closed the door and stepped back as the engine caught and the giant rotors began to turn. 

The pilot flipped switches and announced his intention to takeoff over the radio and then they were in the air, banking sharply to head back to dry land. Allen kept his head turned toward the ocean. This way he could imagine that it was Quinn behind the controls. 

_I might go back to flying._

_You seem to like it enough._

They’d been together more than a year, but that hour they’d spent in the seaplane together was all new territory. Just like the talk they’d had on the porch in Hopkinsville, when Quinn told him about Susie.

Allen wondered if finding out that the woman he loved was using him, spying on him for the enemy had impacted Quinn’s decision to go down in the sub. A death wish?

No. He was a man of action. He’d hopped into a fighter jet in D.C. just as readily. Just as he had a hundred times during the war.

Thinking back to that moment, his last look before Quinn closed the hatch, he remembered something else. Quinn was searching for answers. Not acting for the sake of his country. He needed to know what was out there for his own sanity.

And it had cost him everything. The things they’d been hunting, searching for evidence of, had taken him away.

_It’s beautiful!_

Allen hoped that was the last thought on Quinn’s mind. That he’d gone peacefully, blissfully unaware of the end of days.

The pilot spoke into his radio, something about weather and altitude.

Definitely not Quinn.

Allen shifted in his seat, nearly pressing his forehead to the glass wall of the chopper. The ocean was showing the first signs of the approaching storm. It was swirling, lifting. Lifting way too much for just. . . water. And there, a glint of something shiny, then a spray of foam as something rose from the depths. 

Could it be?

“Captain!” Allen cried out then bit back on the exclamation. “I see something. Circle around. I see him! The sub, it’s surfacing!”

“It’s a whale,” said the pilot.

“No!” Allen pounded his fist into the pilot’s arm for no good reason. Luckily, the soldier was well-built and well-trained. He took the blow without flinching. But he did turn the yoke, so the chopper made a graceful turn around the disturbance in the ocean.

A whale breached the surface then dived again.

Allen heard a terrible noise rise out of his throat. A sad, mournful noise, not unlike whale song but with less elegance.

“Let’s get you home, sir,” said the pilot.

Allen still couldn’t look at him and he couldn’t look at the ocean. So, he closed his eyes and tried to picture Quinn’s face right before he dropped down into that sub. A slight smile. Cheeky. Excited.

Contrasted with the frustrated, disappointed, cold face of the man who had been betrayed by his best friend. _‘You were making a mistake.’_

And the soft, relaxed face of a man with a cigarette and his favorite brand of bourbon.

He always knew it would end someday. But never like this.

It couldn’t end like this.

They delivered Allen to McGuire Air Force Base in New Jersey to await a transport back to Ohio. He thought about calling Mimi. Knew he should but he also knew that he wouldn’t be able to calmly banter with her and he certainly didn’t want to tell her over the phone.

Tell her what? That Quinn was. . . what?

Gone? Missing? Not coming home.

He spent the time writing in his journal, every tiny detail he could remember from the moment they landed on the ship. He wrote about the eyewitnesses and the electrical disturbances and the photographic evidence. He’d written all of it in his official reports already, but this was a recap just for him.

Then he wrote about the fishing boat that was thousands of miles away from where it should be. How? There was something there. If that ship could move through time and space, then Quinn’s sub could, too.

Not a glitch in the sonar but a physical transference of matter from one place to another.

Which, even if you could scientifically prove such a wild theory, didn’t mean Quinn was safe. The fisherman on the boat would have died out there all alone if they hadn’t boarded and found him.

And that new image – not of a Quinn killed instantly by a depth charge, but of Quinn floating aimlessly in the wide sea, all alone with no supplies, no direction, no hope of being found – flooded his mind.

Suddenly the idea of Quinn dying in the explosion wasn’t such a bad thing. He couldn’t handle the thought of his dear Captain dying alone, slowly, waiting for but never being rescued.

Allen scrubbed his hands over his face and the adrenaline he’d been running on for hours dropped out. He could barely sit up. Must have looked like a sick, sick man because a young airman came over to ask if he needed water or food or a lie down.

They were all so young. Why were they all so young?

Allen went back to his notebook and began making lists of everything he’d need to continue the investigation. Faye had started cross-referencing the Blue Book files months ago and he wondered if ocean sightings was one of the criteria she’d used. If so, that would make it easier to pick those cases out of the files. And maybe he could have the Generals ask the Navy for a favor and get their case files. Surely, they had records of all kinds of anomalies and strange encounters on the sea.

He could contact police stations along the coast and fishermen’s associations and the larger canneries and other companies that regularly sent men out to sea. He’d gather all their stories and bit by bit, it would come together. He’d find the pattern and from there he’d. . . .

What?

Inexplicably his son came to mind. Smiling, excited at meeting a real live fighter pilot. How was he going to tell Joel? The boy had never experienced loss – just a frog when he was five and that had been devastating.

He’d leave it to Mimi. That was a rotten thing to do but telling her would be hard enough. And what about Susie? He wondered if she’d even care.

Friends? Family? Quinn never spoke of either. He was a career officer through and through with few attachments – until late.

“Professor, they’re ready for you to board.”

He didn’t argue with this soldier. He just pushed up to standing on aching legs and trudged to the plane. Military transport. Not the most comfortable but he would have had to wait a full day for a commercial flight. He climbed the stairs into the body of the craft and again noticed his bag and Quinn’s bag stowed in a section with a light netting to keep them from shaking loose.

Allen sat down, closed his eyes and counted. Just counted from 1 on, picturing each number in his head simply to keep the other images from taking shape.

He was on 2,250 when the plane leveled off.

Avoiding wasn’t the answer. It only left him feeling even more aching and empty.

Allen retrieved Quinn’s duffel from the storage area and brought it back to his seat. For a while, he just sat with it on his lap. Caressing the worn leather. Fingering the imaginary dog tags that had been removed before they left. 

An hour into the flight, he opened the bag and put his hand in. The largest thing in the bag was a shaving kit. Allen took it out and set it on the seat next to him. A change of underwear and socks and a long sleeve, black button up shirt.

Allen fingered the collar on the shirt and imagined it underneath the gray sweater Quinn had been wearing, just the cuffs and collar sticking out.

He put the clothes back in the bag, then exchanged it on his lap for the shaving kit. There were two new packs of cigarettes inside and that made Allen smile a little. Only needed one change of underwear but 2 packs of smokes – not including the one Quinn would have had in his pocket. . . along with his lighter.

Snap.

Allen couldn’t remember every handling Quinn’s lighter but now he wished it had been left behind in the bag. A memento that was so very Captain Quinn.

The kit also contained a shaver, a small can of shaving foam, a shoe brush and a a comb. There was also a bottle, that at first he thought was a flash for Quinn’s beloved Bourbon. But it was aftershave.

Allen opened the lid and inhaled the fragrance. He had never associated a particular scent with his colleague but when the spicy notes hit his brain, it was 100% Quinn.

“Oh Captain. How did I. . . why didn’t I stop you? I should have stopped you.”

_You did this!_

Allen was shaking so badly he had trouble getting the cap back on the bottle. When that was done he threw everything back into Quinn’s bag and was about to return it to the storage area but stopped himself at the last second.

Instead, he closed his eyes and let the tears fall as he clutched the worn, leather bag to his chest.

“One last case before we ride off into the sunset. But you weren’t supposed to ride off alone.”

Allen chewed his bottom lip until it was raw, fingers kneading and worrying the leather of the bag.

I know you’re out there, Michael. Everyone else can give up but I won’t. I’ll find you. Just hold on. Stay strong. I WILL find you.

Quinn wasn’t cold or wet and he wasn’t scared.

He felt warm and light and protected. Like that beautiful moment when you drift off to sleep beneath a warm blanket while the rain beats down on the roof.

Hold on.

Stay strong.

I WILL find you.

Drifting 8,000 miles away in the frigid ocean, Captain Michael Quinn had no doubt that what Hynek’s voice said was true. The Doc would never give up looking. All Quinn had to do was wait.

  
The End.


End file.
